261 of 365

He was balancing on his board out past the break when he saw her. She was standing halfway down the stairs that led to shore. He was taken aback, stunned with indecision. Then urged by his racing heart, he yelled out to her but the wave broke over his voice and churned up his words in the whitewater. By the time he swam to shore, she was gone. He tried to convince himself she was an illusion, he tried to forget, but forgetting her was impossible.

260 of 365

He placed his feet one in front of the other on the narrow bridge. With each step, the planks bounced, the ropes strained. He followed the span as it wove through the treetops, hovering high over the flooded rain forest floor. He had been here once before, to this foreign land, a land he now would call home. He was returning to the woman who waited for him on the other side, the woman he would marry, the woman carrying his child.

259 of 365

The man that greeted her at the door gave her a genuine welcome and led her to the room at the end of the corridor, where she was to sit alone and wait. She had been in enough of these rooms to know the mirror on the far wall was a one-way window. The air conditioning clicked on, she pulled her long sleeves down over her fingers to block the chill. Then a voice from a speaker in the ceiling invited her to begin when ready.

258 of 365

The land had turned, the soil barren and infertile, the air parched and heavy with dust. They had built a makeshift air well to generate water from the atmosphere, but then the dew stopped forming. They stacked their belongings in the truck bed, tying down the load with lengths of frayed road. The plan was to leave in the morning and drive until they found signs of water, which from all reports might be a few days out.

257 of 365

The child sat beneath a plastic sheet under the assailment of raindrops. His clothes slathered in mud, his feet soaked within his shoes, his body shivering at its core. Every tire plowing down the flooded road gave him hope. He would peek out from his crude shelter, eyes squinting, searching behind the blinding headlights for a familiar face. Each vehicle came and went without a glance at the wet pile of plastic on the roadside.

256 of 365

The artist asked her to stare at the painting for thirty seconds. The girl's eyes bounced from left to right, from top to bottom, as if reading a page in a book. Then the artist replaced the painting with a blank canvas. She gave the girl a brush and instructed her to recreate the original scene. Her gaze danced over the white space, summoning every detail from memory. Her reproduction was accurate to the last blade of grass.

255 of 365

The lights had gone out, the fuel tank for the generator was bone dry. She had one Maglite, and it was essential it last the night. Much of the progress was done in the early morning blackness, she relying on her sense of touch to keep the woman as calm and focused as possible. When the time came, she cradled the flashlight between her ear and her shoulder, and guided the newborn into the glow of the LED.

254 of 365

The recycling bin was larger than any other receptacle in his office. The daily submissions were countless, it was difficult to keep on top of them. He would read a random few on his own, but delegated most to his assistant. He had learned to lower his standards, gave away his benefit of the doubt far too often, and in turn, was left with a lackluster client list. When the phone rang, he thought it was just another hopeless cause.

253 of 365

She could sense the lonely from the alone. She was drawn to them, felt a camaraderie with them. She knew they had material that she desperately needed. She would coax them out of the woodwork, and soon they would tell her tales full of triumph and regret, narrow misses and heartbreak. She could hone a primetime story out of the most mundane of circumstances. Some called it exploitation. She just considered herself good at her job.

252 of 365

Her mother made the rules, set the limits, told her what to do and when to do it. She had accepted this was how it was to be, for now but for good. Her mind wandered, dreamed, longed for adventure, for chance meetings of characters larger than herself. One afternoon, she found a blank journal left by her mother on her bed inscribed with words that, in that single moment, settled her wanderings and gave them a home.

251 of 365

She took the record to the corner music store. The space was cramped with boxes of LPs stacked waist high lining the narrow aisles. She had pulled a King Oliver album and was reading the track list when the man behind the counter asked if he could help. In seconds, he was lowering the needle onto the first groove of her record. Then, as if he had walked through the door, the store filled with the scratchy recorded voice of her grandfather.

250 of 365

The space was once a bustling diner. The waitress was a gum chewer and called everyone "darling." She served orders for burgers, fries, and root beer floats across the laminate counter to flirtatious patrons sitting on red leather stools, feet planted firmly on the metal footrests so as not to spin dizzily while they ate. Now the only food that crossed that counter was what that same waitress could scavenge from the dumpster outside.

249 of 365

All who heard the story considered him the luckiest man alive. He had come to rest upright. The snow covering his face glowed, which meant he was near the surface. And lastly, one of his hands remained free. Flake by flake, he had cleared the snow from his face, took a much needed breath, and yelled for help. It was then he realized he was the furthest thing from lucky anyone who had survived an avalanche could get.

248 of 365

She picked blackberries by the hat-full until her fingertips were stained purple. Back home, she offered the lot to her brother, laying curled away from her on the cot. When he ignored her, she placed four berries near his chest and sat alone at the table. She was grateful; the meal put to shame their usual salted toast and potatoes. Then she sang herself the birthday song, and devoured the fruit. For that moment, she was happy.

247 of 365

Her tattered stuffed bear sat on the seat beside her, but otherwise, she was alone. She had packed her suitcase in a panic, but was forced to leave it behind anyway. The bear was all she had. The train car rocked side to side as it sped down the tracks, leaving the only home she had known in her short eight years of life. The man had mentioned Kansas City. Whether this would be her new home, or just the first stop, she did not know.

246 of 365

She put on her jacket and strolled through her humble garden, her curls absorbing the early morning drizzle as readily as the soil beneath her feet. She lingered near her bloomless lily, speaking sweet sentiments, apologizing for the yellow leaves and the weeds crowding its growth. The days passed, the fog cleared, and the sun scorched the soil. She tended its thirst and waited. She remained patient and true, and was rewarded.

245 of 365

He passed storefront after storefront with windows covered in plywood. The sidewalks were empty, nothing of the bustling rush hour that would have been present a year ago. When he approached the corner, he began to hear signs of life. Voices bartering over food, carts with squeaky wheels on the uneven pavement. He was in need of a new bearing and the outdoor market was the place to find it. Now if he could just make the trade.

244 of 365

When she lost her smile, he turned on the Rascal Flatts tune Banjo and followed its advice. You gotta go deep...cross a few creeks. His fingers tapped the steering wheel, her foot tapped the floorboards. And you go, and you go... The lyrics were their anthem, the pluck of the strings was a melody for the truck's suspension over the unpaved road. They got lost, as the song suggested, and found her smile hiding in a little piece of heaven.

243 of 365

She woke up late after sleeping through her alarm, and was treated to a cold shower, the hot water heater apparently broken. She hit every red light on her way to work, then promptly spilled coffee down the front of her new dress as she got out of her car. Locking her keys inside was her undoing. He spotted her crying from across the lot. He approached and offered to help. They would never have met if her morning had gone as planned.

242 of 365

She was an observer, an anonymous witness. She noticed bliss and despair, pride and greed, admiration and envy. All things to which she was privy simply by keeping her eyes open. The man on his cell phone processing terminal news. The family in the park celebrating new life on the way. The woman in her car crying over the loss of love. She felt empowered by these insights, yet disabled all the same.